Little Girl Blue Read online

  LITTLE GIRL BLUE

  LITTLE GIRL BLUE

  The Life of

  KAREN CARPENTER

  RANDY L. SCHMIDT

  Foreword by Dionne Warwick

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Schmidt, Randy (Randy L.)

  Little girl blue : the life of Karen Carpenter / Randy L. Schmidt ; foreword by Dionne Warwick. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  ISBN 978-1-55652-976-4 (hardcover)

  1. Carpenter, Karen, 1950-1983. 2. Singers—United States—Biography. I. Title.

  ML420.C2564S36 2010

  782.42164092—dc22

  [B]

  2009049044

  INTERIOR DESIGN: Monica Baziuk

  INTERIOR ILLUSTRATION: © 2010 by Chris Tassin

  © 2010 by Randy L. Schmidt

  All rights reserved

  Foreword © 2010 by Dionne Warwick

  All rights reserved

  First edition

  Published by Chicago Review Press, Incorporated

  814 North Franklin Street

  Chicago, Illinois 60610

  ISBN 978-1-55652-976-4

  Printed in the United States of America

  5 4 3 2 1

  For Camryn and Kaylee

  In loving memory

  Lindeigh Scotte (1956–2001)

  &

  Cynthia G. Ward (1975–2005)

  Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful;

  for beauty is God’s handwriting—a wayside sacrament.

  Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every fair flower

  and thank God for it as a cup of blessing.

  — RALPH WALDO EMERSON

  CONTENTS

  FOREWORD BY DIONNE WARWICK

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  PROLOGUE:

  Rainy Days and Rain Man

  1. California Dreamin’

  2. Chopsticks on Barstools

  3. Stand in Line, Try to Climb

  4. Sprinkled Moondust

  5. You Put Us on the Road

  6. Nothing to Hide Behind

  7. America at Its Very Best?

  8. Moving Out

  9. The Collapse

  10. I Need to Be in Love

  11. Just Let Us Know What the Problem Is!

  12. The Bird Has Finally Flown the Coop

  13. Pockets Full of Good Intentions

  14. White Lace and Promises Broken

  15. Beginning of the End

  16. Dancing in the Dark

  17. Too Little, Too Late, Too Soon

  EPILOGUE:

  A Song for You

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  SELECTED DISCOGRAPHY

  SELECTED TELEVISION APPEARANCES

  NOTES

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  SUGGESTED READING

  INDEX

  FOREWORD

  KAREN CARPENTER was and still is the voice that I listen to with a smile on my face. Her clarity, her approach to the lyric being sung, and the smile I could hear in her voice just fascinated me.

  We all are familiar with the hits and the performances, but I was privy to the person. She was a sweet, innocent young lady who had a so much to give—and she wanted to give. She and her brother gave us music— music that reached the innermost parts of our being; and that music is truly missed.

  When I first heard her sing a song that I had recorded some years ago (“Knowing When to Leave” from the Broadway show Promises, Promises), I felt quite surprised that anyone would attempt this song, simply because of the complex time signature and range required to sing it. She seemed to have no trouble riding the notes as they were supposed to be ridden, and I was impressed!

  I felt a need to get to know this young lady, and fortunately it appeared she desired to meet me. I first met her at A&M just after their recording of “Close to You.” Years later I happened to be staying in the same hotel as Karen in New York when I ran into her; she was there going through therapy for anorexia nervosa. Since I had not seen her in quite a while, I must say it was shocking to see how very thin she was.

  I invited her to my suite the following day for lunch, not knowing that eating was the last thing on her mind, but she graciously accepted the invitation and showed up not really ready to eat but to talk. Little did I know that I succeeded in doing something no one else had been able to do. I was able to get her to eat a cup of soup with a few saltine crackers. We spent the afternoon talking about many things, and she finally told me why she was in New York. It was apparent that anorexia was something she was at odds with and trying to combat, and I felt compelled to let her know I was in her corner and gave her as much encouragement as I could for her to continue her fight. We exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch.

  The last time I saw her was at a Grammy photo shoot in January 1983. It was a joyous reunion, and the first thing out of her mouth when she saw me was, “Look at me, I’ve got an ass!” We laughed so hard and loud that the rest of the group took great notice, to say the least. We both agreed that she had a lot of living to do.

  To hear of her untimely transition hurt me as if I had lost a family member. She had so much to live for. Being at her funeral was as difficult for me as it was for her immediate family and host of friends. Yes, I will always remember the day we met and that day in New York, and I cherish the continuing friendship I have with her brother, Richard.

  — DIONNE WARWICK

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  “WE START out with the answers, and we end up with the questions.” Karen Carpenter treasured this quotation, which fellow singer Petula Clark first shared with her, and recited it to close friends in difficult times. Indeed, no matter how many ways Karen’s story has been told, the “answers” always seem to prompt more questions.

  On New Year’s Day 1989, I sat spellbound as The Karen Carpenter Story unfolded. The CBS biopic, which opened with the disturbing reenactment of the events of February 4, 1983, the day of Karen’s death, made an immediate and enduring impression on this teenage viewer. In the weeks following the airing, Karen Carpenter haunted me. There was something about the way that film presented the pathos of her story atop the soundtrack of her sometimes optimistic but often mournful voice that drew me in. Perhaps it had to do with the movie’s slightly sensationalistic nature. More likely it was the depth and density of Karen’s voice. Whatever the reason, I could not get her out of my mind. The filmmakers had provided many answers, but I still had questions—about Karen’s life, about her death, and certainly about her music. I wanted to know more. And I have spent many years searching for those answers.

  I look upon Little Girl Blue as a continuation of similar efforts. Barry Morrow’s struggles to write a screenplay for The Karen Carpenter Story that would offend no one are detailed in this book’s prologue. The baton was then passed to Ray Coleman, who had the arduous task of writing the family’s authorized biography. It is my understanding that both men became frustrated (and even furious at times) with the unavoidable confines of their respective assignments. Both were strongly cautioned by several inside the Carpenters camp against taking on the assignments in the first place. According to Karen “Itchie” Ramone, wife of legendary record producer Phil Ramone, “Ray Coleman really had a rough time in terms of editing. And Barry Morrow, forget it! I felt so bad for him. After a while, Ray threw his arms up. As for Barry, he just had his arms tied.”

  In the face of these admonitions I approached Richard Carpenter with some trepidation. I first met Richard and his wife, Mary, at their Downey home in August 1996 and since that time have been fortunate to visit with him on a number of occasions. Although he has alway
s been genial and accommodating, Richard has rarely lent support to outside ventures without insisting upon editorial control. As expected, he declined to be interviewed for this project. David Alley (his manager at the time) explained that Richard has “said all he wishes to say” in regard to Karen’s personal life. But Alley wished me the best with the project and even declared that he and Richard would not discourage others from contributing, which is as close to an endorsement as anyone could hope for.

  I believe the lack of collaboration with the Carpenter family, however, has proved to open rather than close important avenues of information. In conducting interviews for this book, it became obvious to me that many details of Karen’s life story had never been allowed to see the light of day. In fact, a number of those I interviewed expressed their frustration with the heavy-handed editing that has kept her story concealed this long. I have made every effort to keep this book, unlike the previous, authorized accounts, free of an agenda and the Carpenter family’s editorial control. This lack of censorship has permitted me to dig deeper, explore the story beneath the surface, and give people outside the family who were close to Karen ample opportunity to express themselves.

  Terry Ellis, Karen’s boyfriend and the cofounder of Chrysalis Records, had previously spoken only with biographer Ray Coleman, refusing all other requests to talk about his relationship with Karen. “I could never see the point in helping somebody do a book or a film or a TV show about Karen,” Ellis told me. “I always say to myself, ‘It’s not going to do her any good.’ That’s all I care about. Her.” He agreed to speak with me but questioned me at length prior to our interview: “What story do you think you’re going to tell?” he asked. How would I address the relationship between her and Richard? How did I plan to deal with her illness? Or her relationship with her mother? It was only after I answered these questions—with honesty and sincerity—that we were able to proceed.

  Further important aspects of Karen’s life—the ones that traditional means of research could never divulge—were revealed to me during an afternoon I spent in the Beverly Hills home of Frenda Franklin, Karen’s longtime best friend and closest confidant. “I want you to know and understand the many layers of Karen,” Franklin told me. “She was such an unusual human being. . . . You were better for having known her. I don’t know one person who knew her who doesn’t feel that way. . . . She changed your life.”

  Franklin, more than anyone, was vocal about wanting someone to finally do justice to her best friend’s life story, and as our interview drew to a close, she gave me a quick hug and kiss, patted me on the back, and whispered, “Do good for Karen.” Needless to say, this was a very special commandment coming from someone who knew Karen so intimately and loved her so deeply. I hope that I have succeeded.

  LITTLE GIRL BLUE

  PROLOGUE

  RAINY DAYS AND RAIN MAN

  “I WANT YOU to know I did not kill my daughter.”

  Agnes Carpenter’s first words to Barry Morrow were piercing. Set to interview the Carpenter family matriarch, he was thunderstruck as the woman suddenly jumped in front of the family’s housekeeper, who had answered his knock at the door. This startling and awkward occurrence interrupted Morrow’s introduction. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied with caution. “May I come in?”

  THE YEAR was 1984. Hollywood producer Jerry Weintraub had called a meeting with Barry Morrow, a screenwriter whose resume included two recent popular television movies starring Mickey Rooney and Dennis Quaid: the Emmy award winner Bill (1981) and Bill: On His Own (1983). Both were based on the writer’s real-life friendship with Bill Sackter, a mentally challenged man he befriended and saved from the institution where Sackter spent forty-four years of his life.

  On Thursday, October 18, Weintraub asked Morrow to write the screenplay for an upcoming television movie with the working title A Song for You: The Karen Carpenter Story. “You know, I am just not a fan of the Carpenters,” Morrow told Weintraub, who had managed the duo’s career since 1976.

  Morrow knew of the Carpenters’ music and recalled news reports of Karen’s untimely death the previous year, but he didn’t particularly like their music. “It was considered elevator music,” he recalls. “I was listening to acid rock, Dylan, and Crosby, Stills and Nash.”

  Determined, Weintraub began to cajole Morrow. “All right, listen,” he said. “Here’s what you have to do. I am going to give you three or four albums and a great bottle of wine. I want you to go to a room, turn off the lights, drink this wine and listen to these albums.”

  Morrow, who admits he had never enjoyed a good bottle of wine at that point in his life, much less a great one, followed Weintraub’s orders. “I had never heard her before; I had never stopped to listen,” he says. “I had never heard the sadness and the sorrow and the pain in her voice. I thought when she sang ‘I’m on the top of the world’ she was serious. I never heard the undertones to it, the layers. When I heard the guitar solo in the middle of ‘Goodbye to Love,’ I thought, wait a second, I never even knew the Carpenters!”

  Finishing the bottle of wine, Morrow phoned Weintraub. “I’m in,” he said, “if you still want me.”

  BARRY MORROW knew very little of the story he was hired to write. Naturally, one of his first interviews was with Karen’s brother, Richard Carpenter, who was ambivalent about lending his name to a film about his sister. He saw the potential for pain in such a production, not only for himself but for his elderly, still-grieving parents, devastated by the loss of their daughter. Morrow found Richard to be extremely guarded during their first meetings. More than anything, he saw the surviving Carpenter as highly protective, not only of his sister’s but also his own image and, even more so, that of his family. The interviews were frustrating and at times proved futile. This confused Morrow because he knew the Carpenter circle had initiated and endorsed the project. Even so, he was determined to ask tough and direct questions like “Why did Karen die?”

  With little to go on, Morrow relied on hopes that others would offer more information. He prepared to interview Karen’s parents, who still lived in the house where their daughter collapsed. Immediately sensing the dynamics of the Carpenter family, Morrow knew he would have to take things slowly and cautiously. “I want you to know I did not kill my daughter” was the last thing he expected to hear from Agnes Carpenter. “I felt sorry for her that she would have to say something so shockingly direct and have it be the first thing out of her mouth. I realized this woman was very defensive and may have good reason to be. Agnes was still in denial. These were very commonplace stages that families go through or hide from. They didn’t invent that level of dysfunction, but it was certainly there.” After an hour spent interviewing Agnes in the living room that day, they were joined by Harold Carpenter, Karen’s father, who had little to add.

  Morrow began to realize he might never get the story of Karen Carpenter from the Carpenter family themselves. Maybe there was something to what longtime friend and business associate of the Carpenters Ed Leffler had said when he warned him against writing the screenplay for this highly anticipated TV movie of the week. “You have no idea what you’re getting into,” Leffler said. “Good luck!”

  It was Leffler’s ex-wife, Frenda Franklin, who became Morrow’s primary source for reconstructing the events of Karen’s life for the screenplay. After their initial meetings, the two spoke often by phone, sometimes for hours at a time. Richard was not pleased to learn this. For years Frenda had been viewed as a threat to Karen’s reliance on her family. “Richard started having really strong feelings about what he knew I was going to write,” Morrow says.

  Morrow submitted the initial draft of the screenplay for review in the spring of 1986. “The first draft just hung this on my mother,” Richard said in 1988. “I said, ‘I will not have this. I won’t, because it’s not true.’ My mom, she is possessive. A lot of moms are, but she was never what this first draft implied. Forget it.”

  Carpenter and Morrow met again to look
over the second draft. In exchange for modifications to the script, which included the omission of some scenes in their entirety, Richard negotiated with Morrow. He offered to tell more of his personal story, including an addiction to quaaludes and a brief stay in Topeka’s Menninger Clinic in 1979. In return, Morrow was to soften some of Agnes’s “sharp edges.”

  By July 1987, CBS gave the green light to Morrow’s third draft of the screenplay, which meant a picture commitment was in order. A Song for You: The Karen Carpenter Story entered the pre-production stage, and Weintraub hired Emmy winner Joseph Sargent as director. Richard Carpenter, by then named the film’s executive producer, was still unhappy with the script. “It put his family under a microscope,” Barry Morrow believes. “But that was inevitable.” Yet another revision, dated September 30, 1987, did little to soothe Richard’s concerns. Harsh and hurtful words from Agnes were still present. “You don’t know the first thing about drums,” the character tells her daughter. “Karen, sweetheart, Richard is a musician . . . a serious musician. Don’t you see the difference?”

  Morrow was adamant that the screenplay’s scenes were built on solid facts revealed during the interviews he had conducted, all of which the Weintraub Entertainment Group approved and coordinated. “People in the touring group called Agnes the ‘dragon lady,’” he says, so he was disinclined to further water down her character.

  By December 1988, four drafts of the screenplay existed. When a fifth was requested, Morrow refused, and within a matter of days network executives informed him that writer Cynthia Cherbak had been hired to overhaul his script. Morrow was indifferent. “I was busy and happy to do other things,” he says. “Those were heady times for me!” (The screenwriter had also penned Rain Man, starring Tom Cruise and Dustin Hoffman, for which he won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay at the Sixty-first Academy Awards in 1989.)